Icons
by Mr. GOP 88
Summary: Murder, greed and religion all collide for the team as they investigate a death in a Catholic Church. But the further the team delves into the case, the more danger they find themselves in. Same point of views and characters as usual.
1. The Truth One Way or Another

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly_

_I'm back folks. Just took a little time to get readjusted back to college life. Well here is Chapter One of my new story __Icons__. I hope you like it. Please read and review if you so choose. The next chapter will be up soon. Enjoy._

**Chapter 1: The Truth One Way or Another**

_Wherein our cast find themselves in a perilous situation and our main hero begins to tell their tale. _

Damp, dark and cold, that is our world and has been for the last few hours. All of us who were wearing sport coats or jackets had had them removed. The smell of rust from cell bars fills my nostrils. Three people to a cell, no seats, dark walls and the sound of nothing. All nine of us trapped in this hellhole, waiting on whoever is in charge to come and do what they will.

The leader comes into the hallway in between the cells surrounded by a group of his men. "Which one of you is the boss?" He asks.

No one says a word. One of his thugs draws a gun and points it at Sid. "I'll only ask one more time. Who's your boss old man?" The leader repeats calmly.

I stand up.

"You must be Mac Taylor?"

"I am."

He motions for his men to open up my cell door and two of them each roughly grab one of my arms. One of the other thugs has his gun trained on Stella and Flack to prevent them from doing anything.

The one in charge lands a blow on my face. Lindsay tries to stifle a gasp.

"The next time I ask for you, I expect you to respond promptly." He says.

They push me away from the prison area and take me through a hallway to an empty room. No table, no chairs, nothing. I have a very bad about where this is going. The two thugs holding my arms pull them back behind me, leaving me defenseless against whatever they have in store.

The one in charge starts talking to me "Mr. Taylor the way this will work is really simple. I will ask a question and you will answer it. If I don't like the answer you give me, or you decide not to answer, there will be consequences. Understand?"

I glare back at him, not saying a word.

"Good, now down to business, what does the Crime Lab know about our little group?"

I don't answer and he lands a vicious blow to my ribs.

"We'll try this again, what do you know about icons?"

I still won't answer. Another vicious hit to my ribs. My knees start to buckle but the thugs keep me standing.

"Who are some of your suspects?"

I refuse to answer once again. Any even harder blow to my stomach. I can barely stand, even with them forcing me up.

"This is getting old Taylor. Just answer my questions and the pain will stop."

"Piss…off…" I gasp in defiance.

He retaliates by striking me in the face.

"Okay Detective, we'll try an easy question; when did all of this start?"

I offer only silence and I'm hit in the chest. I can barely breathe. A part of my brain is screaming at me; _you idiot just tell them something, anything_, but I can't. Something inside me refuses to give in to what should be an easy solution. What keeps me from talking is the knowledge that I'm protecting my team. As long as these thugs are focusing on me, then they aren't going after my team. At least I hope so.

This continues for several more questions but I never give them any information. The one in charge knows I wouldn't answer anything a couple of questions ago. The remaining blows were to try and teach me some kind of lesson. I can't even walk afterwards and instead they drag me out through the hallway and back to the prison area. My vision is extremely blurry and my head is hanging down; lifting it would require precious energy I don't have. One of the jailors opens the cell door and the two holding me simply drop me onto the floor.

Stella rushes up to me, at least I think it's Stella. She turns me over and I offer a soft moan of pain.

"Mac! Oh God Mac, what did they do to you?"

"Here Stel, lift his head up a bit." Flack instructs as he takes off his jacket and makes it into a pillow for my head. My vision is slowly starting to clear up, but every inch of my body is sore and wracked with pain. I feel Stella's hand on my face, trying to wipe away some of the blood and sweat that has accumulated.

"Mac, please look at me. Say something. Tell me you are alright." She pleads.

"Stel…" I whisper so quietly I can barely hear it myself.

"It's okay Mac, I'm here."

"Hurts…" I mutter to no one in particular.

"I know Mac. Don't worry. You're safe now."

"Don't be too sure about that ma'am." It's the ringleader.

"You bastard! Look what you did to him!" Stella yells at our captor.

"He did it to himself. All he had to do was answer the questions I asked and he would have been fine. That goes for all of you. If you insist on being stubborn and defiant, then what happened to your precious boss will happen to you."

I try to move, to stand up for myself and the rest of my team. I want to do it but I can't. It hurts too much.

"Stay still Mac." Stella whispers to me. I do what she says.

"I guess I'll have to find a different way to make you cooperate." The boss says aloud.

He and whoever is with him leave the room and close the door. Only then do I let out a cry of pain that I had been holding in.

"Mac!" Stella places her hand on my chest to keep me from moving.

"Make sure he doesn't move too much to avoid damaging anything else." Hawkes calls out, echoing Stella's sentiments.

There is quiet in the room as they wait for me to recover. It takes some time, but eventually my breathing gets back to normal and I can see clearly, but the pain won't go away. I'm certain it will linger for a while.

"Mac" Stella says gently, trying to get me to focus. One of her hands is still on my chest, monitoring my breathing; the other is grasping my hand.

"Mac" she repeats "what did they want?"

I try to focus my brain on the "interrogation".

"Umm… they wanted to know about, the icons and if we knew anything. That's it. I didn't tell them anything Stella." I reassure her, and myself.

"I know Mac."

She kisses my forehead, bringing a slight smile to my face. It quickly dissolves when I hear footsteps coming back.

"Well, it's your lucky day folks. It seems that I'm under orders from on high to _not_ cause you too much physical discomfort. Funny, the message came before Detective Taylor and I had our conversation. I guess I should have checked my messages earlier."

"Bastard." Flack spits out at him.

"Actually you are really going to think that way about me in a minute friend. Detective Taylor and I need to have another talk."

"No!" Stella shouts, grasping my hand even tighter.

"My dear, none of you really has any say in this matter."

One of them draws a gun on Flack and Stella to keep from interfering. Not really caring about my discomfort, two more get me to my feet and haul me out of the cell. They find it quicker to drag me instead of taking the time to let me walk. They take me back to the same room as earlier, only this time there is a table and chairs. They place me in one of the chairs and the boss stands beside the other chair. He pulls out a needle and some liquid.

"You knew damn well about that message before you hauled me in here the first time." I shoot out at my interrogator.

"Of course I did, but I have my reasons." He points to the bottle. "Detective Taylor do you know what is in this bottle?"

I focus on the bottle, sodium triopental otherwise known as sodium pentathol "truth serum."

"Correct Detective. Since force didn't work, I think it's time to try something a little different."

"You must know that sodium pentathol is unreliable as truth serum."

"Of course. That's why we had our little chat earlier. In your state, I don't expect too much resistance now. Time to take your medicine Detective."

One of his men pushes my head onto the table while my interrogator brings over the needle and injects a large amount of the drug into the back of my neck. I start to feel its effects immediately. One of sodium pentathol's affects is the reduction of pain, which in this case is a blessing. My hands which had been gripping onto the table suddenly relax and my other muscles do the same.

"Glad to see you're in a better mood Mac." The gentlemen sitting across from me says. "Now, why don't you tell me what you and your friends have been up to?"

Why not? He reduced my pain and there is far less tension in the room now. Giving him information surely won't hurt anyone. _NO damn it! _Another part of my mind yells at me _it's the drugs, fight them!_ My face contorts and I clinch my jaw as I try to fight the sodium pentathol. The other men in the room seem to be enjoying the battle between my will and the drugs.

"Is there a problem Mac?" the man across from me asks with a smirk.

I'm too focused on my own inner struggle to respond to him. There are several ways to combat the effects of sodium pentathol. If you have a firm lie in your head, it may well come out instead of the truth. If a lie hasn't been prepared, a person with a strong enough will can resist it. Under normal conditions I could overcome this thing, but after the beating they put me through, I can't fight it off.

The drugs win.

"No problems Mac?"

I repeat what he said. "No, no problems."

"Good, I need some information."

"What do you want to know?" I say groggily. Sodium pentathol is also used as anesthesia, making me feel fatigued.

"Let's try a few simple questions to start with. First off, what is your badge number?"

"8443." I don't even think about it.

"Good. Who is your partner? What is her name?"

"Detective Stella Bonasera."

"Very Good. What about the rest of the people in with you? Who are they?"

"Donald Flack, Daniel and Lindsay Messer, Adam Ross, Thomas Hayes, Sheldon Hawkes and Sid Hammerback." I rattle off the names of my friends and colleagues without any resistance.

"Now, to make sure you aren't lying. What was your wife's first name? How did she die?"

"Her name was Claire. She died on 9/11 in the attacks on the World Trade Center towers." I numbly state. There is no passion or outrage in my voice. I couldn't muster any if I tried.

He breaks into a big, nasty smile.

"Excellent job Mac. Now, I want you to tell me everything about what you and your team have been up to. Tell me everything and start at the beginning."

"It all started less than two weeks ago…"

***

_12 Days Ago…_

Mrs. Nora Malone quickly makes the Sign of the Cross as she enters the front door of Saint Basil's Church. Inside, the Church is quite, and most of the lights are out. It is Friday afternoon, most people don't even think of Church until Sunday, if at all. However, Mrs. Malone considers herself a good Catholic, and that means going to confession.

She finds her way to the confessional. Going inside she sees a figure dressed in the cloth of the priesthood on the other side of the screen. Mrs. Malone finds this odd; most priests do not wear their vestments outside of Mass. Oh well, to each their own. She makes the Sign of the Cross, and begins her portion of the Right of Reconciliation.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned, it has been two weeks since my last confession."

There is no answer. Mrs. Malone is puzzled.

"Father" no answer again.

"Father are you ok?"Still no answer. Mrs. Malone steps out and goes to the other curtain, leading to the priests' side of the confessional. Very timidly, Mrs. Malone pulls back the curtain.

Immediately, she lets out a fierce shriek of terror. This is too much for someone her age. One of the parish staffers comes running over just as Mrs. Malone collapses. He calls for an ambulance, and the NYPD.

Because there is a dead body in the confessional.

_Thoughts? Ideas? Suggestions? I'll take them all. Chapter 2 coming soon._


	2. Church of the Bad Blood

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly_

_Thanks for everyone who has started reading my newest tale. The next couple of chapters will be a flashback to the events leading up to Chapter 1. As always read and review if you so choose._

**Chapter 2: Church of the Bad Blood **

We arrive at Saint Basil's Catholic Church in Astoria in Queens. As usual, a crowd has gathered around the taped off area of the church, the curious onlookers of a rather grim show.

Flack is already here, he is just finishing up an interview with the staffer who found both Mrs. Malone and the body.

"So, when I heard her scream, I rushed over here and found Fr. Stewart like that."

"Thank you Mr. Campbell, here is my card, if you can think of anything else, please call."

"Yes sir."

This Mr. Campbell walks away. Don motions for us to follow him inside the church.

We make our way to the confessional. The confessional itself is dark oak, and the curtains are a burgundy color. Inside is a man dressed in an alb, a green amice, and a green chasuble. There is also blood coming from what appears to be a stab wound.

"Wound to the abdomen, probably severed an artery. He most likely bled out."

"There is a bruise on the left side of his face. He must have been arguing with someone, it got physical and the other person took out a knife and stabbed him."

"Look at this Stella." I gesture to the oak floor "no blood and there wasn't any outside either. We aren't looking at our primary crime scene. Someone disposed of the body here in the confessional."

"Either they panicked and deposited the body in the first place they could find or the murderer deliberately wanted someone to find the body. What do you make of these?" She shows me what appear to be tiny gold flakes that were on the priests' robes.

"They could be from something with a gold finish, maybe the murder weapon." She collects a sample to give to Adam back at the Lab.

We finish processing the inside of the confessional and head back into the main part of the church. Saint Basil's is not a large church, but it is very ornate and beautiful. The floor is marble and behind the altar is a large stain glass window depicting Saint Basil holding a scroll. The pews have a fine wooden gloss finish on them and there are several beautiful Eastern icons in the front of the church. The Stations of the Cross are depicted in paintings of the eastern style.

"This doesn't look like many other Catholic churches I've been in. It is more like the Orthodox Churches we saw in Greece." Stella remarks.

"Don't let our appearance deceive you Detectives; we are just like any other Catholic Church."

A small, elderly man in the black clothes that identify him as a priest makes his way towards us.

"And you are Father…?"

"I'm Monsignor Aleksander Bunda, pastor of Saint Basil's; you must be the lead Detectives from the NYPD?" He asks with the trace of an Eastern European accent in his voice.

"I'm Detective Mac Taylor, and this is Detective Stella Bonasera, and we are from the New York Crime Lab. The art in your church is more consistent with that of the Orthodox faith Monsignor."

The older man smiles "Ah, you have a good eye Detective Taylor. Yes, we are decorated like the churches of our Eastern brothers. Truth be told it is intentional. With the large Greek, Cypriot, and eastern community in our area, the artwork is like what they have back at home. I myself am from Croatia, not quite the same, but I understand what they like and what appeals to them. We give our visitors a comforting setting, and they are more likely to stay, some even formally convert. It's for the greater glory of God after all."

"Can you tell us about the victim Monsignor?"

He nods "of course Detectives. The deceased is one of my brother priests; Father Stewart Gills. Unlike myself, he is from New York City. He has been here at Saint Basil's for the last year, and we are his second assignment.

"Did anyone have any disagreements or troubles with Father Stewart?"

Monsignor Bunda looks up and sighs, collecting his thoughts. "Ours is a more traditional church Detectives. We have one Mass a week in Latin, and our congregation is older and likes things the way that they are. In what I have to believe was the Archbishop's attempt at humor, His Grace assigned Father Stewart to our parish in an attempt to attract a younger generation of parishioners. Father Stewart was enthusiastic about it, and quite determined to umm… shake things up. In that task, Father Stewart was successful. He did manage to bring in a younger crowd, and rattle a few chains in the process. Let's just say that our other parishioners were not as enthusiastic about changing things as Father Stewart was. Many of them complained, and we even had a few leave."

"What sort of changes did Father Stewart bring to your church Monsignor?"

"Some of it was good. He really revived our youth program and got young people involved in our Church. It wasn't so much what he did that upset people as what he said. His homilies were tailored to a younger crowd; he spoke about social justice, and not accepting things as they are. He was also irreverent towards the Church hierarchy and even questioned Church teachings on a lot of controversial issues, like contraception, gay-marriage, even the big one; abortion."

"Were there any threats made against Father Stewart?

"No, none that I can think of."

"When was the last time you saw Father Stewart?"

"I saw him this morning at breakfast. I've been out today lecturing on Catholic theology at NYU. Father Stewart was scheduled to celebrate Mass, and Father Malcolm is visiting the local hospitals."

"Who is Father Malcolm?"

"He is the other new priest at our parish. I'll give you his number so you can talk with him."

"Thank you Monsignor. We would also like a list of your parishioners so we can talk with them."

Now, Monsignor Bunda is frowning. "I'm sorry Detectives, but I can't give that to you."

"Why not Monsignor?"

"I don't believe knowing who attends our parish is pertinent to your investigation."

"Monsignor, we don't know what is pertinent to our investigation until we have all of the possible evidence."

"There is no physical proof that any of our parishioners had anything to do with this. I'm sorry, but you will have to get a subpoena if you want a list of our parishioners. Good day Detectives."

Monsignor Bunda leaves us in a huff, obviously irritated.

Stella turns to me. "That was odd Mac. He didn't seem very shocked or saddened by the death of one of his fellow priests. Only when we wanted a list of his parishioners did he get really angry."

"Maybe some of the parishioners here aren't the only ones who had some problems with Father Stewart's new way of doing things?"

"So what's our plan Mac?"

"You and I will work with what we've gotten from the confessional, but first we need to find our primary crime scene. I'll call Hawkes and ask him to find and talk with Father Malcolm. I don't think Monsignor Bunda is going to be quite as cooperative now."

"Right."

***

Hawkes walks the familiar corridors of Angel of Mercy Hospital. Usually when he comes here, the situation is not good, and this time is no different. He had just gotten a call from Mac telling him to track down a Father Malcolm. The receptionist gives him a room number and Hawkes makes his way there. Inside, an elderly woman is talking to a young man dressed in black with a white collar.

Hawkes waits just a bit as the priest finishes up with the woman. The priest comes up to Hawkes.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Father Malcolm?"

"Yes I am, and you are?"

"Dr. Sheldon Hawkes with the NYPD Crime Lab, I need to talk to you for a bit Father."

"Of course, let's leave Mrs. Stratipolis in peace."

They make their way out of the main corridor and into one of the empty waiting rooms. Hawkes takes a seat in one of the chairs, and Father Malcolm does the same in the adjoining chair.

"Have you heard about what happened to Father Stewart?"

The priest frowns and glumly nods his head. "Yes I did. It is really a terrible tragedy. Father Stewart was not only one of my brother priests, but a good friend as well. He will be greatly missed. The one consolidation is that he is now in the arms of his Lord."

"Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt Father Stewart?"

Father Malcolm quickly shakes his head. "No, no Father Stewart was well liked amongst the young people of our parish. He was actually starting to bring them back to the Church."

"Monsignor Bunda told my colleagues that Father Stewart was controversial with some of your more traditional parishioners."

"Yes, I suppose you could say that." He wants to say more, and Hawkes can see it.

"Go on Father. The more information you can give me, the better chance the Crime Lab has of finding the person who did this."

Father Malcolm sighs. "I'm sorry Doctor, but it is just… well, Father Stewart and Monsignor Bunda did not get along very well. They just didn't seem to understand where the other was coming from. The differences were both doctrinal and I think cultural. Monsignor Bunda is from rural Croatia and a traditionalist. Father Stewart is… was from New York City and a believer in adapting to the times. I tried to help them out as best as I could, but it was hard. Father Stewart thought that Monsignor Bunda was too old and set in his ways. Monsignor thought that Father was uppity and trying to create controversy just to create controversy."

"Did things ever escalate between the two?"

"A couple of times at dinner they did start yelling at each other. It was quite embarrassing. Really, both of them were at fault, but they didn't see it that way. Monsignor said that if Father wanted to leave, all he had to do was say so. Father said that it might be time for Monsignor to retire."

"Just for the record, where have you been today Father?"

"I've been making the rounds here and at some of the other hospitals in the city, visiting some of our sick parishioners."

Hawkes stands up, fishes for a business card and gives it to the priest. "Thank you for your help Father, give me a call if you can think of anything else."

Father Malcolm nods. "It's my pleasure to help Doctor. Please, find the person who did this to Father Stewart."

"Don't worry Father, we will."

"God be with you Doctor."

_So the team has started their investigation. Who killed Father Stewart and why? Stay tuned._


	3. Every Man has Two Faces

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly_

_Well folks, here is Chapter 3. This story is going to be longer than my previous tales, so things will take a little longer to pick up. Having said that, here it is. Enjoy._

**Chapter 3: Every Man has Two Faces**

Back at the Lab, Adam starts analyzing the gold flakes that Mac and Stella had collected from the crime scene in Saint Basil's. Under the microscope, he sees that it is not, as they initially thought, from a weapon. After running another test, Adam confirms what he saw under the microscope. He files it away in his report.

***

Unfortunately, our quest to find a primary crime scene has been thwarted. Whoever killed Father Stewart had meticulously covered their tracks and cleaned up the primary crime scene. There was no blood anywhere in Saint Basil's. Looking for other evidence throughout the church was frustrating and fruitless. Back at the Lab, Sid's autopsy report comes in and it confirms what we already know. Father Stewart bled out when the knife pierced one of his arteries. Given the position of the wound, the priest didn't have a chance; he bled out in minutes.

This leaves us with only two leads to go on; the gold flakes and the bad blood between Father Stewart and Monsignor Bunda. While I looked for the primary crime scene, Flack and Stella questioned whoever they could find without the list of parishioners. Everyone said that Father Stewart was controversial, but they also said that Monsignor Bunda could be a tough, uncompromising man. Some of the younger people call him "Sergeant Bunda". While some people find him a bit harsh, the pastor has no real enemies or people who he was truly hostile with; except Father Stewart. That is a problem; Father Stewart and Monsignor Bunda _were _hostile to each other. The thought of a man of God taking the life of another is shocking to me, but as of now, it is the most plausible theory we have.

***

"It was from the robes of a priest." Adam tells us, looking proud of his work.

"What do you mean?"

"The gold-flakes that you found on Father Stewart's body were the same type of gold pieces that is found on clothing. I did a little digging and found this." He quickly brings up the image of a priest's robes with the same gold that we found on Father Stewart.

"We got an even bigger break" Adam continues "the way it is sewed denotes that this particular type of robe is only made in Europe. The gold fell from a European priest's robe and onto Father Stewart."

"Monsignor Bunda is from Europe." I remind Stella.

"So let's go over the facts." She states "Monsignor Bunda and Father Stewart were having a nasty feud over a variety of issues. The other priest, Father Malcolm, left early this morning to go visit the hospitals. There was at least an hour that Bunda and Stewart were alone and it would be very easy for someone like Monsignor Bunda to smuggle a knife into the church, and trace evidence from Bunda's robes were found on our vic. Means, motive, and opportunity. They are all there."

"We need to have another talk with Monsignor."

***

Monsignor Bunda is sitting in the interrogation room, waiting for us to question him. The older man seems impatient and irritated, like he feels that he is wasting his time by being here.

"I can't get my head around it Mac." Stella has made her way beside me. She is also looking at our chief suspect. "Why would someone like Monsignor Bunda, who everyone says is a tough but good and decent man, murder a fellow priest?"

"I don't know Stella, I'll ask him." I head into the interrogation room.

"You better have a good reason for bringing me down here Detective Taylor. I was in the middle of preparing my homily for Sunday Mass."

"Monsignor, I know you were not entirely truthful in our first meeting. You said that some of your parishioners were having problems with Father Stewart, but you never mentioned the fact that you had several heated disagreements with him."

"Yes, Father Stewart and I disagreed with each other strongly on several issues, but that hardly amounts to motive Detective. I'm sure you and your colleagues have had disagreements and squabbles before, but you never touch each other, much less resort to violence."

"You have also refused to cooperate with our investigation by stonewalling our efforts to investigate if any of your parishioners had anything to do with the murder. You have to admit Monsignor that that at least looks bad for you. It looks like you are hiding something."

"Of course it looks bad for me Detective, but that is not my concern. My first priority is to my parishioners and their privacy."

"We also found several small, gold flakes on Father Stewart from your robes. Father Stewart kept his robes in a separate closet. Why did he have a gold flake from your robe on his robes?"

"I honestly can't answer that Detective."

"Let's go back to the list of your parishioners Monsignor. We talked with the office of the Archbishop, and he said that there would be no reason for a church in the Archdiocese to not release a list of their parishioners. In fact, the Archbishop said that since it is not violating canon law, a church is encouraged to cooperate with the police. Is the Archbishop wrong? Or, are you ignoring the standard procedures of the Archdiocese?"

Now he is getting flustered. "His Grace doesn't necessarily know every detail of what goes on at each parish. Surely you don't tell your superiors everything that goes on in your department."

"I also don't intentionally hide things from them. What are you hiding Monsignor?"

He is irritated again. "What does this have to do with anything Detective?"

"You said your first duty was to your parishioners. I believe you Monsignor. Why don't you tell us what is going on and save Saint Basil's and the Archdiocese from any scandal? Even if you don't give us a list of your parishioners, at least tell us why you are hiding it. That in itself may be enough."

The priest is thinking, obviously calculating his next response. "If I tell you why I'm hiding my parishioner list, will you stop asking for it?"

"That depends on what you have to say."

"Will the content of this conversation not lead this room?"

"I can't promise that."

"Detective, I need you to give me your word as a fellow believer in justice and God. What I say cannot become public knowledge."

I look towards the window separating us from the observation room. Watching on the other side, Stella turns off the sound system, making the conversation between myself and Monsignor Bunda a private one.

"Alright Monsignor, this will be kept between the two of us. I give you my word."

He sighs. Monsignor Bunda looks even older now, as if he is carrying a great weight or a very heavy burden. "Detective, as I told you, I'm from Croatia. You seem like an intelligent man, but let me refresh your memory. Back in the 1990's when Yugoslavia was breaking up; Croatia began a war of independence against the Serbs of Yugoslavia. There were great hatreds between the Serbs and Croats dating back centuries. These tensions exploded during the 90's and the war of independence. It was a terrible conflict, with killings and ethnic cleansings on both sides. Fortunately, I had already moved to America before the conflict started, but others weren't so lucky. Many people were forced to flee the country. Some went to Austria or Italy, or other parts of Europe, but a few came to the United States, some even to New York City."

It dawns on me what he is trying to say. "You helped the refugees enter our country?"

He nods. "Yes I did. I was a younger, more idealistic man then. I talked with some of my relatives still living in Croatia and they told me about the horrors that were going on there. The refugees were my religious and ethnic brothers and sisters. They had no one else to turn to. Even some of the Serbs who came over here just wanted to find a peaceful place to live with their families. When I came across some of the refugees, I felt that God was calling me to help them. I helped falsify some of their papers and used my position as a priest to influence some of the Immigrations officials. Many of them are now U.S. citizens under false identities. Some are Croatian Serbs who have formally converted to the Catholic faith, which would bring a heavy social stigma upon them by their fellow Serbs. However, they have lived in this country for almost 20 years now, some have died, and others have raised their families here. The only stipulation I placed on the people I helped was that they keep their noses clean. If anyone got caught up in something illegal, I immediately stopped helping them. The ones who have stayed within the law I have continued to help. My conscience couldn't let me have their lives ruined by letting them be caught up in this investigation."

"So you refused to hand over a list of your parishioners to protect the identities of these refugees?"

"That's correct Detective."

I've been in this line of work a long time, but people still surprise me and not always in bad ways. Instead of the strict, uncompromising man that I had come to see Monsignor Bunda as, now I find myself admiring him. He risked a lot in helping refugees from a distant war find a home in this country. Now, he is still trying to help them after almost 20 years. It certainly makes his efforts to keep a list of his parishioners hidden understandable. Unfortunately, that still doesn't help him with regards to the murder of Father Stewart.

"Monsignor, how much did Father Stewart know about your work on behalf of the Croatian refugees?"

"He didn't Detective. Besides from the refugees themselves, myself and now you, no one knows. Not Father Stewart, Father Malcolm, the Archbishop, or anyone."

"Can you explain how the gold from your robes got onto Father Stewart's?"

"Now that I think about it, yes I can. This Wednesday and Thursday, we had the floors redone at Saint Basil's. To get to the floors in our rectory, the workers moved the closets where we keep our robes. Since the closets themselves were quite heavy, we took our robes out to lighten the load. My robes and those of Father Stewart must have ended up in the same pile and the loose flakes from my robe ended up on Father Stewart's."

Reading the old man's face, I find nothing to indicate that he is lying to me. Monsignor Bunda is telling the truth.

"Monsignor, maybe we can work out a compromise. Perhaps you can provide the Crime Lab with a list of your parishioners but remove those who are refugees from the list?"

He ponders the offer. "Fine. Those refugees who have not kept their promise to me I will also leave on the list. That should suffice for your investigation."

"Thank you Monsignor."

"Thank you Detective. I truly do hope you find the man who killed Father Stewart. His death weighs upon my conscience. I should have followed the lines in Scripture about forgiving one another 'not seven times, but seventy times seven'. I wish you well on your investigation."

The old priest gets up from the table and we head out of the interrogation room. After escorting him out, I find Stella.

"He didn't do it." I state unequivocally.

"So where does that leave us?"

"He is going to get us a list of his parishioners."

"We might not need that after all." Both Stella and I turn to see Flack coming towards us. "I just got a call from one of my boys and a man has been found dead in Saint Constantine's Orthodox Church."

"Another priest?" Stella asks.

"I don't know, but another body found inside another church; does that sound like a coincidence to anyone?"

"No, it doesn't." I state grimly.

_Don't worry; things will start coming together soon enough. Stay tuned._


	4. Blood Oath

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_A little quicker than I thought, but the weekends seem to be a good time for me to write. Here is Chapter 4. A shorter chapter this time, but I hope you like it. Please read and review if you so choose._

**Chapter 4: Blood Oath**

_ Wherein a wave of attacks on our heroes by an unknown force pushes them all to the brink._

Danny and Lindsay find themselves at Saint Constantine's Church, processing a grisly scene. A man was dead, dumped in the baptismal font. The water normally used to bring people into the faith is red from the blood seeping out of the victim's torso. Unlike the victim from Saint Basil's, this one died from a gunshot wound.

Lindsay points to what appears to be a scuff mark on the side of the font. "He must have been shot with his feet up against the side and he simply tumbled back into the font."

"That would explain why there is no trail of water leaving the font or any blood on the floor." Danny says.

Aside from the blood in the water, there is no other evidence they can find. The two of them make their way out of the church and heading towards the parking lot.

Danny notices the look on his wife's face. It's the look she has when something is bothering her. A riddle she is trying to find an answer to. "What are you thinking Linds?" Danny asks her.

"Something about our victim doesn't seem right."

"What do you mean?"

"The way he was dressed. It was way too casual for a man going to church. He must have been there for another reason."

Before she can say another word, a black van bursts around the corner at break-neck speed. The two barely have time to jump out of the way. The driver quickly turns the vehicle around. The screeching of tires fills their ears and the smell of burnt rubber permeates the air. The windows on the passenger side and in the back roll down. With horror, Danny realizes what is happening.

"Get behind me Linds!" He shouts as they make their way behind the nearest cover they can find, which is behind a car in the parking lot. Both of them get down and Danny positions himself between the van and Lindsay.

Danny's worst fear is confirmed when a hail of bullets pours out of the van. Both detectives cover their heads. The shots fly over and all around them. The sound of bullets hitting cars rings through their ears as the horror of the situation grips their hearts. They brace themselves for what seems like the inevitable moment when a white-hot pain will sear through the one they love and their worst fears will come true. Danny grabs onto to Lindsay's hand. If he dies, the last thing he wants to feel is her tender hand entwined in his.

_Not again_ Lindsay bemoans to herself. She already almost lost Danny once due to similar circumstances, she isn't going to again. _At the very least_ she thinks to herself, _I'm not going down without a fight_. She draws her weapon and fires at the fleeing van. Her bullets just ricochet off the vehicle.

Her courage makes the proper impression on Danny, who gets his own gun and joins in the firefight. At this point though, it is a lost cause. The van speeds down the quiet street and out of sight.

"You alright Linds?"

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"I'm okay. Who were those guys? What did they want?"

"I don't know, oh God Danny, I thought I was going to lose you." She embraces him in a hug.

"It's okay. We're okay." Danny tries to reassure her. His words have the intended effect. She resumes an all-business persona.

"We need to call Mac."

***

"Your Honor, the witness is lying."

"That is an outrage. Mr. Ryun is one of principle spokesmen for the ACLU in the entire city."

"Then this Court will fully be aware of his record of distortions, dishonesties and disreputable statements."

The opposing council is taken aback at the harsh accusation. Normally a lawyer doesn't go after a witness so brutally. But this time, they pissed off the wrong lawyer on the wrong day.

Tom Hayes is in a foul mood. This was supposed to be his day off, the day he was going to spend with his children. After all, he only gets to see them once a week per the custody agreement. Instead of taking them to Central Park or the zoo, he has been dragged into court to deal with a frivolous lawsuit. Worse, this is the second in just a month from the ACLU. They have a bone to pick with the Lab, and that has made him very angry.

So, Tom unleashes his bile upon the witness, exposing him as a liar and an ingrate. The man on the witness stand is reduced to mincemeat, withering under the assault from the lawyer's rapier tongue.

"Your Honor, since the witness is incapable of stringing together two words with a dictionary and a flashlight, I motion for this trial to be dismissed."

"Very well Mr. Hayes, you've managed to demolish this witness thoroughly enough for me to dismiss the case against the Crime Lab." Judge Walters bangs down the gavel.

"Thank you Your Honor." Tom says. Despite his bad mood, Tom is proud of himself. He has been training himself to suppress his southern accent. "It annoys New York jurors" he had told Mac simply. During this whole farce of a proceeding, he hadn't slipped back into the accent. No 'yalls' or 'yers' this time around.

Tom leaves the courthouse, hoping to be able to rearrange the day he can spend with his kids. Walking down the steps, for once Tom doesn't feel pressed by the typically large crowds. The outside of the courthouse is practically empty.

A man in a dark blue suit is making his way up the steps holding a copy of the newspaper in his hands. Suddenly, he turns and brandishes a gun at Tom. The lawyer only has time to bring his briefcase up to guard his face while the man fires two shots. Both lodge themselves in the papers in Tom's briefcase but the startled lawyer takes a step back and falls to the ground. The man in the dark blue suit races down from the steps of the courthouse and darts away heading for a black van.

***

I pull up to the parking lot of Saint Constantine's Church. It looks like a war broke out here. Several cars have dozens, maybe hundreds of bullets in them. Tire marks show where the van had spun around. The smell of burnt rubber and bullets fills the air.

Someone had attacked Danny and Lindsay, but she said they both were okay. Thank God. The two of them are standing there, talking with one of the other cops when I get to them.

"Danny! Lindsay!" I call out to them. I feel a slight weight lifting off my shoulders. Hearing that they were fine was okay, but actually seeing it with my own eyes is more comforting.

"Mac!" Lindsay waves me over.

"What happened you two?"

"We were just leaving after processing the scene inside when this black van came around a corner and nearly hit us. When that failed, they came back around and tried to gun us down."

"Did you get a good look at the van? Who was inside it? The license plate number? Anything?"

"No Mac, sorry."

I sigh in frustration "it's alright. I'm just glad you both are safe. I'll get someone else to process this scene under guard. You two head back to the Lab."

"But Mac, please, let us do our jobs." Danny pleads.

"You two were almost killed today. Get your asses back to the Lab. That is a direct order." I snap. This is no time for any sort of bravado.

"Yes boss." Danny mutters.

I'm about to make my way over to one of the other cops to get a protective detail for this place when my phone starts ringing. It's Tom. That's odd; he was supposed to be in court all day.

"Taylor. What is it Tom?"

"Mac! Oh God boss! I can't believe it!" He sounds extremely nervous and agitated.

"What? Can't believe what?"

"Mac, someone just tried to kill me!"

"What?!"

"I was coming out of the courthouse when a man in a dark blue suit came up to me and shot at me twice."

"Are you injured or hurt?"  
"No, my briefcase took the bullets. The man just took off and got into some crummy van."

"A van! What color was it? What did it look like?"

"It was black and was so dented and dinged up that it should have been sent to the scrap heap."

"Get back to the Lab Tom and bring your briefcase with you."

"What is going on boss?"

"I don't know, but we are going to find out."

I head over to my truck and send out a dispatch to the rest of the team in the field; Hawkes and Adam. Everyone is to get back to the Lab. I don't care what they are doing; the field just isn't safe right now. I wait to get confirmation from everyone that they are on their way to the Lab before I head back myself.

***

I'm back at the Lab. This has been an agonizing time, waiting for the rest of the team to show up. Every minute that they aren't back, I stay worried. I started pacing in my office wondering what is going on. There were two attacks on members of my team in different sections of the city by the same mysterious group of people. I have no idea who they are or why they targeted my team.

I head out of my office to check and see who has arrived. Tom made it in, and he is shaken up. Danny and Lindsay are here too and they are faring little better. I called Flack and told him and even Sid to come to this meeting. If they attacked Danny, Lindsay and Tom, they'll attack anyone.

Hawkes and Adam come in, a confused look on their faces. That's everyone except…

"Where's Stella?" I ask quickly.

I'm given blank looks all around. My heart starts to race and my chest starts to tighten.

"Where?" I ask again in a deadly serious voice.

"I'm right here Mac." I hear to great relief. "Sorry, I was just finishing up a phone call."

"What is going on boss?" Adam asks.

I let Danny, Lindsay and Tom explain what happened to them. The rest of the team listen but don't fully understand. None of us do.

Seeing them all there, angry, confused, and yes, scared, it stirs a deep anger in me. I'm beyond pissed. I'm beyond even being mad. I'm _enraged_. I make a vow then and there. I am going to find these bastards. Whether they hide on the most frozen, remote mountain peak on Earth or crawl into the deepest, most damning pit of Hell, it doesn't matter; I will hunt them down.

_Any thoughts, ideas or suggestions, let me know, I'm willing to listen to any of them. Chapter 5 will probably come Wednesday, but that's not set in stone. Stay tuned._


	5. Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_It seems that everyone liked Chapter 4. Thanks for continuing to stay with me and my little tale. As always, please read and review if you like._

**Chapter 5: Wolf in Sheep's Clothing**

_Wherein our heroes find previously unknown connections between recent events, and one of them finds them self in even more danger._

"Mac. Mac wake up."

I feel someone's hand shaking my shoulder and I jolt out of my slumber. "Huh…what?'

"You were sleeping." It's Stella.

"Stel, what are you doing here at this time of night?" I ask confusedly. I last checked the clock sometime around 1:00 am.

"This time of night? Mac, it is 8:30 in the morning."

"What?" I turn my chair around and see the morning sun shining in the eastern sky.

"When did you go home last night?" She crosses her arms and looks at me. I don't meet her in the eyes, which is more than enough answer for her.

"Mac, you have to stop doing this." She tells me sharply.

"I'm fine" I wave dismissively. Any argument about this would be a pointless waste of time.

She persists. "No, you are just stubborn. Mac, you've practically lived at this Lab for the past three days. You need to get some rest."

"I'm fine." I repeat.

It's been three days since the attacks. The mood at the Lab has been extremely tense. Thankfully there have been no more attacks, but everyone is on edge. Processing a cross-section of the bullets that were fired at Danny and Lindsay and the two that were stuck in Tom's briefcase confirms what we already knew; at least one of the gunmen was at both scenes. No one is surprised when that information came back, but no one is really comforted either.

What was their motive? It has to be the Stewart case and the John Doe from Saint Constantine's. I'm almost convinced that the attacks were not designed to kill anyone. If that had been their intent, all three of my team would be dead. These bastards were trying to send us some kind of message. About who or what, I'm not sure.

My feelings about this whole mess have not changed. The fiery sense of outraged has only cooled so that it can be hardened into a determination that is strong as steel. The files concerning both incidents are now on top of the pile on the edge of my desk and there they will stay until we figure this out.

It's true that I have been basically living at the Lab ever since the attacks took place. Along with my anger, I also feel a guilty sense of responsibility. They are my team; I'm responsible for everyone who works at this Lab. I owe it to them to stick with this until we know what is going on.

But even arguing with Stella isn't keeping me awake. I feel myself nodding off while trying to tell her that I'm fine.

She cuts me off before I can make any more arguments. "Mac, you need to get out of this place. Go home and for God's sake get some rest."

Right now her will is stronger than mine. "Alright, I'm leaving, but I'll be back here after lunch."

She shakes her head in exasperation, but doesn't contest me. "See you after lunch. Get some sleep."

***

I'm out of the Lab, but I certainly don't go home to just sit around. Instead, I head to Saint Basil's Church. I'm convinced that if we solve the murder of Father Stewart, then the other pieces of the puzzle will fall into place.

Saint Basil's is certainly an odd church. It is designed and decorated much like Orthodox churches, despite being Catholic. A part of that are the many icons along the walls. One in particular near the confessional where Father Stewart was found strikes me; an icon of the symbols of the four Gospel Writers; a lion for St. Mark, an angel for St. Matthew, a bull for St. Luke, and an eagle for St. John. It is a very detailed, ornate icon, not the largest in the church but certainly one of the most unique. I continue to stare at the icon; there is something familiar about it…

_Inside Saint Constantine's Church, along the left wall a group of icons, including one with a lion, a bull, an angel, and an eagle._

This icon is in both churches. In fact, it is the only icon that I've seen in both churches. Even ones of the Madonna and Child had small differences in them. This one though is the same. I take a photo of it with my cell phone and race down to Saint Constantine's. My suspicion is confirmed. It is exactly the same icon, down to the smallest detail. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal, but this particular one is so unique that it can't be a coincidence.

I'm back at Saint Basil's taking a closer look at the icon and I notice a small stain on the wall right beside it. If I wasn't as close to the icon as I am, I would have missed it. The stain is blood.

***

"We got an id on the vic from Saint Constantine's." Lindsay announces to Stella proudly. "The vic's name is Mike Russell. He was a construction worker with a rap sheet a mile long."

"What was he doing in an Orthodox Church?" Stella asks

"The church apparently was going to undergo some renovations in the near future. At least, that's what the contract in Mr. Russell's car said."

"That's odd. According to parish records Saint Constantine's had undergone complete renovations less than five years ago."

"Stella, there is no way a church renovated five years ago would need to be renovated again so quickly. Besides, why would a construction company send a convicted felon to a church? I smell a rat."

"Maybe Tom can look at the document; see if it is an authentic contract?" Stella suggests. She hands the paper, carefully protected to avoid tampering with whatever evidence is there, to one of the techs to send off to Tom. Right as the tech leaves, Adam comes in with a big smile on his face.

"You look happy Adam. Find something?"

"As a matter of fact I did. I was looking over the clothes Russell was wearing. Most of the trace evidence had been contaminated by the water, but I found the smallest trace of GSR on his shirt. I put it under the scanning electron microscope and found something very interesting. You ready for this? The gun that killed Russell is the same one that was in the attacks on Lindsay, Danny and Tom."

"The same gun?"

"The exact same gun."

"So the same person who killed Russell is the one behind the attacks. This is more than a simple murder. What is it that they don't want us to find out?" Stella wonders aloud.

"I don't know, but this might lead us in another direction." Says a new voice in their conversation.

***

I find Stella, Adam and Lindsay in the Lab discussing their latest findings. I've managed to identify who the blood from Saint Basil's belongs to. It's a rather surprising find and will probably yield more questions than answers.

"Mac what are you doing back here?" Stella asks me sternly. I broke my promise to her about staying away from here, but under the circumstances, I'm not too concerned.

"I went back to Saint Basil's Church to look further into the Stewart case and found this." I hold up the container with the q-tip and the sample I collected. "It's blood that I found on the wall of Saint Basil's. The blood was next to an icon in Saint Basil's that is exactly the same as one that is in Saint Constantine's."

"Whose blood is it?" Adam asks eagerly.

"It belongs to Father Malcolm."

"Father Malcolm? The other priest from Saint Basil's?" Stella asks. I nod in the affirmative.

"We need to talk with Father Malcolm and find out what his blood was doing on the wall of Saint Basil's. Stella you are with me. The rest of you keep on the other cases."

***

Mac and Stella arrive at Saint Basil's Church. Assuming that the two of them wouldn't have any trouble with a man of the cloth, they just headed directly to the church. It is empty this time a day.

Father Malcolm is in the back, near the tabernacle, cleaning out one of the chalices. It is an elaborate, heavy chalice, with gold-plating and small images of Christ and the Apostles adorning the side.

"Father Malcolm." The priest turns towards Mac and Stella.

He manages a weak smile. "Detectives. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Father, we need to ask you a few questions."

Father Malcolm goes back to cleaning the chalice. Mac takes a step towards the priest.

"Come on Father, don't make this difficult." Mac grabs one of Father Malcolm's arms. Suddenly, the priest turns around and hits Mac on the head with the heavy chalice. He falls to the ground.

"Mac!" Stella forgets her training and rushes over, trying to be sure if he is okay. She doesn't look at Father Malcolm. She quickly checks the wound, it looks to be superficial, and Mac appears to be fine, just unconscious. She didn't see the priest pull out a gun.

"Get up Detective." The priest is no longer smiling, and now is pointing the gun at Stella's head. "We'll take the back way out. Drop the gun and please, don't do try anything stupid, otherwise there will be a new job opening at the Crime Lab."

An angry Stella has no choice but to comply. She looks back helplessly at Mac's unconscious frame as Father Malcolm leads her out the back door of Saint Basil's. No one notices them. They get into one of the parish cars.

"Drive."

They leave the area. Still no one notices.

_Just a little suspense to keep you all interested. Don't worry, there is much more to go. We aren't even half way done yet. Stay tuned._


	6. A Small Fish

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks once again for everyone who has been reading this. I hope you are enjoying reading it as I am writing it. Here is Chapter 6. Please read and review if you so choose and most of all enjoy._

**Chapter 6: A Small Fish**

_Wherein the rescue of one of our heroes reveals something far more sinister than a mere kidnapping and murder._

I feel my face pressed up against a cold marble floor. I have a very nasty headache and my vision is blurry.

"Young man, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I try to get up, but my legs feel shaky.

"Here, let me help you." This person grabs my arm and helps me get to my feet.

"Thank you." I blink and shake my head, trying to clear it. I also get a look at the person who helped me. It is an older woman, wearing a black veil. A widow inside a church. What am I doing in a church? I can't remember.

"That is quite a nasty bump you had son. Are you sure you are fine?"

"I'm ok. Thank you Ms…?"

"Ms. Parker. Victoria Parker. What about you son?"

"I'm Detective Mac Taylor with the New York Crime Lab."

"A police officer? Good. Maybe you can tell me where Father Malcolm is. He was supposed to come and visit the nursing home today, but never showed up."

It starts coming back to me. Coming to Saint Basil's to question Father Malcolm. Him cleaning the chalice, me grabbing his arm, and then, before I have time to react, the heavy chalice bashing into my head. There is something else too. Stella came with me.

"Ms. Parker, have you seen another person here? A woman with long hair? Wearing a grey coat? Police badge?"

"No Detective I haven't seen anyone like that."

Father Malcolm must have kidnapped her. I should have known. It was a mistake to come here without any backup. Now it's my fault that not anyone, but_ Stella_ has been kidnapped by a murderer. I grab my cell and call the second number on speed dial.

"Flack."

"Don, it's me."

"Mac, where are you? You said you and Stella were going to bring in Father Malcolm for questioning, but that was almost an hour ago."

"It's my fault Don. Father Malcolm got the jump on us. He knocked me unconscious and kidnapped Stella. We need every available unit looking for them."

"I'm heading over there to pick you up. I'll start mobilizing the rest of the NYPD. Oh, and Mac."

"Yeah Don?"

"Don't beat yourself up over this. We'll find them both."

***

Stella and Father Malcolm make their way through New York's traffic. Stella is nervous, but more than that, she is angry, mostly at herself. She had abandoned her training when she saw Mac collapse onto the floor. She was too concerned with him being okay to worry about the man who now held her hostage.

"Turn left at the next light."

Stella ventures a look at her kidnapper. He is still dressed in the robes of the priesthood and pointing his gun at her, making this situation seem almost ridiculous. If it weren't so serious, she might have laughed at the thought; being held at gunpoint by a priest. This whole thing is almost surreal.

"Keep your eyes on the damn road woman; we don't want to be pulled over do we?"

Maybe she can pry some information out of him. Drawing on her experiences interrogating suspects, Stella tries to get Father Malcolm flustered. She knows the priest can't kill her yet, so she can push a bit. In anger, the priest might say something that she can use.

"You know what the penalty is for kidnapping an officer? Ten years, not to mention the murder charge you are facing. Not to mention assaulting my partner. You'll be lucky if you escape the needle."

"Shut up. You and I both know I'll never see the inside of a court room."

"What I can't figure out is why? What did you have against Father Stewart?"  
"He found out things he shouldn't have found out."

"What about Mike Russell, the construction worker in Saint Constantine's?"  
"Never heard of him. Of course, that's not surprising. We have several people who deal with those who interfere.

"Who is 'we'?"

"Shut up Detective."

Stella keeps driving while Father Malcolm starts dialing his cell phone.

"Yeah. I have a NYPD Detective. What? Of course not. Where do you want me? I've been faithful! I've been loyal! Don't abandon me! I will prove my loyalty!" He closes his phone. Stella notices a change come over the priest; he is frantic and angry. A bead of sweat goes runs down his face and he starts muttering to himself.

"I am faithful. I am faithful. I am faithful."

***

My cell rings and I quickly grab it.  
"Taylor."

"Boss." It's Adam. "The car was just spotted heading to the docks."

"Thanks Adam."

We race towards the docks. Flack is driving; I don't trust myself to be behind the wheel with my head still aching. Danny, Lindsay, Hawkes and almost the entire NYPD is out in different sections of the city, looking for Father Malcolm and Stella. The rest of the traffic is wisely getting out of the way. Why Father Malcolm wants to go to the docks, I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that he won't get away.

***

Stella pulls up to one of the platforms that is high above the bay.

"Get out." Father Malcolm yells at her. The calm, ruthless demeanor that he once had is long gone. The man is now desperate and as far as Stella can tell, he's lost it.

"Go to the end, near the edge of the pier. Do it!"

She has no choice. In his jittery state, Father Malcolm could do anything and not following his orders could prove fatal.

Stella walks out onto the platform. Her shoes clank on the metal edge of the platform and she starts to feel some sweat build up as the sun blares above. If she only had a moment, she could make a grab for the gun and seize the weapon, and her freedom. She knows one thing; if she can help it, she isn't going to have her friends find her helpless and in danger.

Her thoughts drift to Mac. She wonders if he was okay. She wants to see him again. She doesn't want the last image of him she has be him collapsed on the floor of the church. Mostly though, she wants him to tell her that it is okay, that everything is alright.

Stella vaguely hears the sound of sirens in coming closer to them.

***

We make it to the docks. The platform they are on is high above the lapping waves of the bay. We find our way to the top. There, Father Malcolm stands, his gun still pointing at Stella.

"Drop the gun Father." Flack shouts.

Instead of complying, the gun-wielding priest starts cackling wildly. The man has clearly become unhinged. His eyes burn with the fanaticism of a zealot.

"Don't you understand? NOTHING that happens here is going to make a bit of difference."  
"Drop the gun and no one has to get hurt. Everyone can walk away alive." I call out.

He's still laughing. "What happens to me is meaningless! I'm nothing! I'm faithful, but I'm NOTHING!" He is ranting, spewing nonsense.

"Just drop the gun."

"You have no idea what you're getting into. You can win this battle but you won't win the war!"

"What are you talking about? Were you the one to kill Father Stewart and attack my team?" I need answers. This won't end until we know.

"Of course I killed Stewart. The fool knew too much. As for your precious team, well you don't have me to curse for that!"

"Who then!" I shout at him.

He laughs and laughs, all the while still pointing his gun at my partner and moving closer to the edge of the pier.

"Stop moving and drop the gun!" I yell.

He continues his mad laughing although now he is pointing his gun more at me and Flack instead of Stella. I'm not as concerned with Flack's and especially my safety; we have Kevlar vests. Stella doesn't.

"My role is over Detectives. You have your murderer. Congratulations."

I ready to fire my gun. The moment he does something stupid-

"Time for my exit off the stage." He moves even closer to the edge.

"Don't do it Malcolm."

His cackling continues unabated "I'm still nothing Detective; a mere acolyte. You have no idea what you are up against. You should have just walked away! Keep digging and you die! LONG LIVE IRENE!!! LONG LIVE THE ISAURIAN!!!"

"No!" I shout in hopeless futility.

He fires a bullet randomly before throwing himself off the edge.

I duck. Flack ducks, both of us desperately trying to avoid the deadly projectile. In the process I hear the sound of the mad priest hitting the water.

"Damn it!" I swear in frustration before turning my attention to Stella.

She comes over to me, unhurt at first glance. Ignoring Flack she embraces me in a hug.

"Are you okay Stella?"

"I'm fine. What about you? How's your head?"

"I'll be fine. What happened?"

"I was making sure you were okay and he pulled the gun out and forced me to drive him here. What was he ranting about? Who is Irene? What is the 'Isaurian'?"

"I don't know, but we are going to find out."

"It's not over is it Mac?" She asks me with trepidation.

"No, not by a long shot."

_A little shorter than some of the other chapters but I hope you like it. As you can see, there is more to this than meets the eye. Stay tuned._


	7. Night Reflections

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Glad to see there is still interest in my story. A small note; Rosa Atrus pointed out to me that Stella grew up in Saint Basil's orphanage. I did not know this when developing my story so just to clarify; the church in my story is unrelated to the orphanage. Hope that clears up any confusion. Anyways, here is Chapter 7 and it will be different than my other chapters. Enjoy._

**Chapter 7: Night Reflections**

_Wherein our hero thinks on what has been and what always seems to be. _

The darkness of a new moon cloaks all of New York City. Artificial light the only sort of light there is tonight. If this had been a rural area, instead of downtown in the one of the greatest metropolises in the world, it would be pitch black. Even New York City by this time of night has dimmed most of her lights, her people succumbing to a peaceful slumber. Only a few of her residents are awake and most of them are curled up comfortably in their homes waiting for whatever reason before they join in the slumber of the majority. Still fewer of the people of the city are unfortunate enough to be encamped at their places of employment. Those who are awake and mobile, heading to and from a multitude of destinations, look up at the tall building downtown and can't help but notice a few yellow and fluorescent lit windows. Those who are walking or at home peering through their own windows sigh and shake their heads, pitying those who are still somehow trapped at their work and unable to tear themselves away from it. Workaholics they are called, and with good reason; whether out of enslavement to the almighty dollar, the fear of a looming deadline, or a motive as simple as duty, they remain.

At the New York Crime Lab, after the brutal week that was, it would be a logical assumption to believe that they too would be entrenched in their Lab, furiously working around the clock to uncover a puzzling mystery that has threatened to consume them. However, this time, only one of their number remains. The rest have dispersed, some to join the night owls who strive to make true the moniker of "the City that never sleeps". Others have joined the rest of the city in succumbing to the sands of sleep. However, in the empty, deserted corridors of the Crime Lab, a single light continues to pierce the darkness. In one office, a person continues to toil away, relentlessly avoiding the siren calls of rest and sleep. Inside that office, a coat hangs over the chair and an old cup of the black elixir known as coffee sits on the desk. The glaring computer screen competes with the fluorescent bulbs above to be the main source of light in the room. Throughout the night, peering at the computer screen sits the one soul, but not now. At this moment he is away from the desk and the room. Right now, he is found far above that office literally on top of the building. He is near the edge of the building, standing perfectly straight, with the dark burgundy sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his arms crossed. On his belt, a gold badge hangs, imprinted with four numbers: 8433. To those who see him, and they are few in number, he appears as a silent sentinel, much like the gargoyles found on gothic churches. He has the look of a benevolent guardian, watching over the building and city he cares for so much. Worry, determination, and a stubborn sense of duty are etched like granite into his face. For this one soul, there is no longer the threat that recent events will consume them; they already have.

***

A breeze comes from the Hudson River and blows warm air onto my face and forearms and through my hair. I find myself on the roof of the Crime Lab. Not to jump or end it all, no that isn't the reason. I needed a break, time to think and some fresh air. I knew that if I went out the front door, the temptation to just walk away might overpower me. I won't go home. For me, home is a barren apartment, haunted with the ghosts of painful memories. Opening a window would do nothing to relax my mind. That left a third option, the one I took, where I find myself several stories above New York City. Up here the City is beautiful at night. It seems that this high up, far away from the surface, all her blemishes and imperfections are gone. I stare out over the City. I've seen her at her best and at her worst. I've seen the City in times of greatest joy and felt the deepest pain on her darkest day, because it was my darkest day too. Compared to that, this natural darkness is a comforting blanket.

However, the week that has just passed, it might bring itself into contention for the darkest of times. My team has been under siege. Four of them were nearly killed, and my partner was kidnapped in the process. Her rescue brought only the reassuring knowledge that she was safe. Everything else has brought no comfort. The death of Father Stewart has been solved in only the most technical sense of the term. Yes Father Malcolm confessed to the murder, but before anything could be done, the man jumped to his death. I gained no satisfaction from that act. In my opinion, he cheated justice. The reasons as to why he committed suicide and murder, they remain shrouded in a dark veil of secrecy. His associates, if he has any, they remain hidden in the shadows. His ranting before he plunged to his death could be nothing but the ravings of a mad man, or they could be something more.

I try to clear my head of these thoughts. I came up here to relax. Walking through the darkened corridors of the Lab on the way up here, I was struck at their emptiness. I was not surprised by the fact that they were empty; I had ordered everyone home early this evening. Everyone who works here needed the peace of mind that comes from being away from this place. Not unexpectedly, they protested and argued, trying to reassure me of their willingness to stay. Not surprisingly, Stella argued the most forcefully and stubbornly of all. Against her and everyone else's assault, I stood my ground. No, now was not the time for this.

Of course, if they knew that I remained, they would be even more incensed. I know their concerns, especially Stella's. The lectures have become almost constant, the gentle and not so gentle urgings. Stella flat-out told me that she now sadly expects to find me asleep at my desk when she comes in for work. Her tone is both angry and sympathetic. She doesn't mask the sympathy; instead she tries to use it as another tool to convince me. She and the rest of the team don't understand; I _need_ to work, to keep digging, searching and looking for answers. I know what I'm doing. I don't want to be cast as a selfless martyr; I'm just a man doing his duty, fulfilling what I feel is a sacred trust. I don't need to rend my garments and lament my fate; this is my choice and for them, it is one I gladly make.

The warm breeze stops and the temperature, while still comfortable, is dropping. My break is over. I have to return to work. I head back down the stairs into the safe sanctuary of the Lab.

_A little different literary style I decide to try. Good? Not good? I'm interested in any feedback you might have._


	8. Catching Up to Darkness

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks for waiting everyone. I had to deal with some real writers block on this one. Writing __Vacation__ which everyone should read, (shameless plug I know) helped. Anyways, here is Chapter 8. Enjoy and please post any reviews you may have._

**Chapter 8: Catching Up to Darkness**

_Wherein our heroes uncover critical clues as to who is behind recent events._

Danny and Lindsay find themselves in the lobby of the Archdiocese of New York. The rest of the team is at the Lab trying to use the evidence at their disposal to find some clues as to what is going on. If anyone would know what would motivate someone like Father Malcolm, Danny and Lindsay assume it will be the Archdiocese.

The receptionist gives them both a tart look when he comes up to her and the gaze continues to be sour as they ask to see someone about Father Malcolm. She doesn't look any more inclined to help when she is shown their badges.

"Fine, I'll get our Ministerial Coordinator to meet with you." She says in a huff. She makes a quick phone call and a middle-aged man in layman's clothing comes out to greet him.

"Detectives, I'm Morris Logan, the Ministerial Coordinator for the Archdiocese, please step into my office and we'll talk."

"Thank you Mr. Logan."

The receptionist glares at them while they head into the office. After they have gone into the office, she makes another quick phone call.

***

Stella finds Mac almost exactly as she had predicted. She knew he wouldn't leave; she could tell just by looking into his eyes. Now, he is at his desk; his head on top of a stack of files, the only motion the steady rise and fall of his chest, the gentle sound of his breathing the only noise in the room. Despite herself, she smiles at him and gently lays her hand on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his silk shirt under her fingers. She frowns when she sees goose bumps on his arms. Preparing to find him like this, she walks back to her office and pulls out a bag. Inside the bag is a blanket she has brought from home. Quietly, she walks up to him and places the blanket over him. Right now, he isn't her boss or coworker; he is just a friend in need of a blanket. She could swear that she sees his lips slightly curl into a smile. To her, he looks at peace for first time in days. She wishes she could stay, but she doesn't dare want to disturb him. She makes her way out of the office and gently closes the door. The work of the morning would continue, but for him, at least for now, there would be peace.

Outside the confines of his office, the Lab is continuing to press forward on a myriad of questions. Mac had mentioned something about the same icon being in both Saint Basil's and Saint Constantine's Church, so Adam was now looking at them both. Tom was examining the contract and Hawkes was at a crime scene. Danny and Lindsay are down at the Archdiocese. Stella doesn't know where Flack is. The Lab has tried to return to some semblance of normalcy, but everyone is still on edge, waiting to see what happens next.

"Stella." Both Adam and Tom come up to her, each looking pleased with themselves.

"Looks like you both found something."

"It's a fake." Both of them say at the same time.

"You start Adam. What's a fake?"

"The icons we got from Saint Basil's Church it's a fake."

"Tom?"

"The contract that Russell had for the renovation of Saint Constantine's. At least in the legal sense of the term, it's a forged contract."

"What was the fake contract specifically for?"

"A renovation for the left wall of the church."

Stella has a revelation. "That's the same wall that this very icon is on. The same icon in two churches, a blood stain from the murderer on a fake one, and a fake contract to work on the wall that the same icon is on. It's about the icons. Whatever this is, the icons are the key."

A phone goes off and Stella finds herself racing into the office to stop it from ringing so as not to wake him up. She wants to let Mac sleep a little longer.

She answers the phone "Bonasera."

"I've got some good news and bad news for you Stella." It's Flack.

"We'll take any good news you have Don."

"The guy who shot Mike Russel is down at the precinct and he confessed to the murder."

"That's great Flack. Has he told you anything about who's behind this?"

"There's the bad news. He says that the Russell thing was just a robbery gone bad. He panicked and dropped the gun as he was leaving Saint Constantine's. His alibi for where he was when Danny, Lindsay and Tom were attacked checked out. He killed Russell, but had nothing to do with anything else."

Stella sighs in disappointment. "Alright, thanks anyways Don."

"No problem. Say, where is Mac? I called him specifically."

"He's asleep."

"You actually got him to go home and take care of himself? I don't believe it."

"Don't worry, I can't perform miracles. He's asleep at his desk."

"Somehow I'm not surprised. I'll keep talking to our suspect and see if he remembers anything else. If I find out anything, I'll give you a call."

"Thanks." She hangs up. Mac is still dozing and Stella decides that now she should wake him up. So far, today has at least reconfirmed that the events of the last week are connected and that the thread connecting them appear to be a particular icon in Saint Basil's and Saint Constantine's Church.

She gently nudges Mac's shoulder and wakes him up.

***

It was a nice dream. I was floating in a sea of nothingness, not a care in the world. But, I'm now awake and looking at my partner.

"Morning sleepy." She smiles at me.

"Morning." I quickly notice a blanket that is covering my arms. "Did I miss something?" I ask confused.

She shakes her head "not really. We got some new information on the case."

I know she knows that isn't what I'm talking about but I let it drop. I stand up and try to stretch a bit, my back being sore from the uncomfortable position I fell asleep in.

"You know they make beds for a reason Mac." She says to me, the slightest trace of sarcasm in her voice. "Anyways, let's head downstairs and I'll let you get caught up on the case."

"Lead the way."

***

The meeting between Danny, Lindsay and Mr. Logan is friendly enough, even if it doesn't produce much in the way of answers. Father Malcolm had been a priest for many years and no one had ever had any problems with him before. "It's almost like he is a completely different person" Mr. Logan asserted with sincerity.

The two detectives head to their car to head back to the Lab. Stella had called and told them that there had been some stilted progress. It wasn't much, but it was something.

In the garage where they parked their car, Danny notices another car parked with very tinted windows near their vehicle. He can't place his finger on it, but something about the car has him suspicious. Danny quietly draws his gun and watching him, Lindsay does the same. They carefully make their way over to the other car.

Suddenly, behind one of the pillars two men come out and open fire on them. Danny and Lindsay dart in opposite directions to avoid being hit. This time though, they won't cower for their lives. Lindsay returns their fire and hits one of the men in the shoulder. With only one left, Danny aims carefully and takes him out, a single bullet to the chest. The gunman dies before he reaches the ground. The one that Lindsay hits fruitlessly tries to reach for his weapon which she kicks out of his reach. The man is hauled to his feet and placed under arrest.

"Nice shot Montana." Danny compliments.

"Thanks. Not too shabby yourself Messer."

***

The wounded gunman sits alone in the interrogation room, waiting for someone to come and question him. Both Danny nor Lindsay are still shaken up from the shooting so I decide to do it myself. We are running his prints through CODIS, waiting to see if there is a match.

I walk into the room. He glares at me with hatred.

"Sooner or later we are going to find out who you are. Why not save everyone a lot of trouble and just tell me who you are and who you work for."

"I have nothing to say to you, heretic." He spits out.

"You shot at two NYPD detectives. An Attempted murder conviction will get you the death penalty. I'll make sure of it."

"If I must be a martyr then so be it. Rome killed the faithful too and a dozen took their place."

The man is a religious zealot, I'll have to talk to him on his terms.

"You tried to kill someone, isn't that a mortal sin? Doesn't the Fifth Commandment say 'thou shall not kill'?"

His eyes burn "don't you dare quote Scripture to me you blasphemer."

He is getting riled so I decide to hit where it hurts. I take out what appears to be the key to this case; a picture of the icon from Saint Constantine's and Saint Basil's Church.

"Does it have anything to do with this?"

The man's face contorts in rage "BLASPHEMER! HERETIC!!! Destroy that damned IDOL!!!" He grabs for the picture, but I'm quicker and I take it away before he can touch it.

"How dare you show me that filthy idol!"

"What's wrong with the icon?" I ask calmly, letting him hang himself.

"That damn idol is heresy! The Isaurian Emperor banned such heresy and Lady Irene continues his work; the work of the iconoclasts!"

"You are an iconoclast?"

"I am one of the true faithful! The majority are heretics who worship such pagan idols. They and their foul art will be purged one way or another!"

"So that is why you attacked my team? Because of these icons?"

"You cannot be allowed to interfere in Lady Irene's plans. Do not interfere or you will pay for your heresy."

He's given all the information he is going to give. I return his glare "what happens to me is between me and God, but I know what is going to happen to you. You are going to jail you son of a bitch."

"You received your warning Detective. If I was you, I'd start praying. You'll need it."

_Hope you like it. I promise that Chapter 9 will not take nearly as long to post._


	9. Awful Certainty

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_Thanks for the warm response for Chapter 8. Here is Chapter 9. As always please read and review if you so choose. Enjoy._

**Chapter 9: Awful Certainty**

_Wherein our villains try to break our heroes._

"This is truly a fascinating story Detective Taylor" my interrogator comments. I've been talking uninterrupted for several hours. I haven't held anything back. I can't. The sodium pentathol is continuing to run through my system, making resistance a mere afterthought.

The boss checks his watch "I think we are done for now Detective. We'll pick up where we left off later."

"What about my team?" I struggle to get the words out.

A wicked, nasty grin breaks out on his face "of course. Well, you're helping me so much, I don't need them anymore." He motions for his men to take the chairs we were sitting on and the table out of the room.

"Please don't hurt them." I beg to my captor.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt too much." He says coolly.

"No don't…" I call out to his back.

"Do try and get some sleep Mac." He turns off the light, leaving me in total darkness.

My hearing is heightened in the darkness. The faint echo of footsteps, the muttering of several people. Then, with horror, I hear the clear, distinct sound of a gunshot.

I barely have time to absorb what just happened before another shot rings out. And another. And another. Eight in total.

"No!" I shout in desperation, hoping against hope. Praying that I'm wrong, but deep down I know what happened. Stella, Flack, Danny, Lindsay, Sid, Tom, Hawkes, and Adam all dead.

I make my way to the wall and with my back against it; I slide to the floor, my admission of defeat. A blackness much worse than the darkness surrounding me fills my soul. I failed them, utterly, totally. There is no way for me to earn their forgiveness. There will be no way to make it up to them. Stella, my partner and best friend. Flack, a great cop and a good friend. Danny and Lindsay newlyweds with a beautiful daughter now orphaned. Hawkes and Sid, two brilliant medical minds now gone. Tom and Adam, two quiet young men, and they were great friends as well. All of them, my family, gone. This is hitting me as hard as when I lost Claire. The sudden, irrational taking of people near and dear to me, it is almost too much to bear.

"No" I mutter. "Damn it, no."

***

I've been encased in a tomb of darkness for several hours, but sleep will not welcome me. Images of my friends and colleagues lying dead in this damp hellhole haunt me. There can't be any denying it. They died, and it is because of me. That terrible, succinct point will not go away and can never be changed.

And yet, this isn't over with. What will happen when these thugs come back? I'm torn between hopeless acceptance of what has happened and a stubborn defiance that I will not help these bastards anymore. I make my decision. I'm getting out of here. I don't even care too much if I die trying; most of my soul died when those gunshots went off.

I get up and feel around for the door. Since it's locked, I slam myself into it, trying to break it down. It fails, but I keep going. I'm getting out of this hellhole. Several more attempts fail and my aching shoulder forces me to give up. I slip back down to the floor now utterly drained of hope. My team died in here, and now I'm going too as well.

The door opens and the boss enters with his men. They turn on the lights, blinding me.

"Sleep well Detective?" He asks cruelly. I ignore him.

"Good. Now, I have a proposition for you. Last time we talked I had to use rather coercive methods. I am fully prepared and willing to do it again, but I don't think you want that. Here's the deal; you tell me what I want to know and I won't use the sodium pentathol or any other of my rather tough methods."

"And if I refuse?" I ask. No matter what he says, I already know my answer.

"If you refuse, then I will use the same methods that worked yesterday."

"Then I refuse." I stare back at him, hoping my body and will are as strong as my words.

His face betrays his surprise. "Your team is dead Detective. There is no point in continuing to resist anymore. Just tell me what I want to know and this will be much easier for you."

"You killed the people I care about in this world. I won't cooperate with you no matter what. Do what you will. You can torture me, and I know you are going to kill me, but you will not get me to talk."

He narrows his eyes in hatred. "So be it."

Without warning, he hits me across the face and I stagger backwards, blinded by the blow. He grabs my shirt collar and bashes my face against the wall. I'm barely conscious, but I feel his arm wrap around my neck, cutting off my air. My hands grab at his arm, fruitlessly trying to loosen his hold. My arms start to hit against him in desperation. My legs start to buckle and my arms start to feel heavy until there is nothing more I can do.

***

Stella and the others continue their waiting. While Mac has been away, the rest of the team is left to stew in their cells. No one has come out of the interrogation room and they haven't seen Mac for a long time. This has them nervous and concerned. Through the thick door, they didn't hear the gunshots.

"God knows what they are doing to him. It's been too long." Danny says. His mood is as black as the walls of the prison.

"If they want any information out of him, then he is still alive." Hawkes says calmly.

"Who's to say they aren't torturing him? What if they got the information out of him and then just killed him?" Danny retorts; his concern for Mac causing him to lose his cool.

"Mac's tough, he's not going to help them without a fight." Tom asserts.

"Yeah, and that might get him killed." Danny shoots back.

The room is quiet after that. No one really to discuss the issue any further, especially when everything is just rumor right now. Then, the boss walks in. He seems to be frustrated.

"Where's Mac? What have you done with him?" Stella yells at him.

The boss looks at her "don't worry your pretty little head Detective Bonasera." She's taken aback, unaware of how he knows her name. He notices "oh yes, I know who you are, and I know the rest of you as well." He goes through the area pointing to each of them and calling them by name.

He continues pushing the knife further into their backs "You see Detective Taylor and I have had a very fascinating conversation. Actually, I didn't say much of anything, but him on the other hand. Let's just say that Mac is a great conversationalist once he has been properly persuaded. Now I know I've learned a good deal about you and your little investigation. It's really quite interesting."

"So now what?" Stella asks, bracing herself for the worst.

"You all are in luck; I have a present for you." He says with a fiendish smile. He motions out of their line of sight and one of his men drags Mac into view. A large purple and black bruise covers part of his forehead. His face is pale from the lack of blood, his neck red from where the boss had cut off his air. In any other situation, he would look terrible, but not now, and not to them, especially Stella. She was beginning to believe she had lost him forever.

"Your precious Mac is a stubborn bastard. He thought you were all dead and he still wouldn't talk. Look at him." The boss pulls on Mac's hair and shows them his bruised and damaged face. "I will keep doing this until he stops resisting."

"No!" Stella pleads. "Please, stop hurting him."

"Once he stops resisting I will!" the boss shouts.

"Please." Stella has decided what she needs to do. Mac has fought on his own too hard for them, now it's someone else's turn.

The boss smiles a wolfish smile. "How about this Detective Bonasera; you come with me and I'll simply leave Detective Taylor here in your place."

"Deal." Stella replies grimly.

The thug holding Mac up simply tosses him to into the cell like a rag doll, unconcerned with him anymore. One of them tries to grab Stella's arm but she pulls it back and glares at him with murder in her eyes. The man looks like he wants to slap her, but the boss stops him.

"No. Detective Bonasera has agreed to cooperate with us, be nice."

They lead her into the darkened corridor and close the door.

_Hope you like it, more to come._


	10. Interregnum

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Paramount, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, and other people who are much more creative and wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Well mostly. Probably. No wait, mostly._

_A note; this is going to be the last Chapter of __Icons__ for a while. I'm just not feeling the spark that I need to give this its proper due. Don't worry; I have another story coming out very soon called __War__ that is an AU that I hope you like. Thanks as always for the great response. Here is Chapter 10. Enjoy._

**Chapter 10: Interregnum**

A light tap on my cheek and another, and another. Eventually, I pull myself out of my unconscious stupor and see the face of Don Flack._ Great, a damn dream._

"Go away." I wave limply at the ghost standing over me.

"Nice to see you too." He comments dryly.

"Go away. Aren't real." I mumble. Why won't these ghosts leave me the hell alone?

"Mac, are you okay?" Flack asks concerned.

"Better than you, you're dead." I comment.

"Dead? Sorry Mac, you must be confused, I'm not dead."

"I must be dead." I come to the opposite conclusion.

"No one's dead Mac." He responds seriously.

_He's lying to you._ I tell myself. _Why would a ghost lie?_ Another part of my mind asks. I have a headache and am in pain; why won't this damn ghost just leave me alone? Maybe if I go back to sleep, he will leave me alone.

"Mac, Mac!" He continues talking to me, trying to prevent me from heading back to peaceful sleep, to forgetting about the awful event that happened.

Now he shoves my shoulder harder, forcing me to stay awake and focus.

"Huh, Don?"I fight off sleep once again, my head becoming clearer.

"Mac listen to me. You're not dead, I'm not dead, you just need to focus.

I sit up trying to get my bearings, trying to make sense of things.

"Don, these bastards, they shot you, they shot everyone." I know what I heard.

"They must have really done a number on you Mac. None of us have been shot."

_The boss was bluffing, the bastard._ "Thank God. I thought you all were dead."

"We were starting to think the same thing about you. They had you in there for a few hours boss."

"They used sodium pentathol to force me to tell them about our investigation."

"Damn. Then why were you roughed up so badly?"

"They made it seem like they killed you, and I wasn't going to give these murdering thugs anything else they wanted. But, everyone's okay right?" I ask hopefully, desperately needing to know.

"We are all alive." Flack states simply.

"That isn't what I asked." Something is wrong here and I don't know what it is.

"Wait a minute" it dawns on me what's out of place. "Where is Stella?"

Flack looks away. "Don, I need to know."

"When they brought you in Mac, you were in pretty bad shape. The boss, he made some threats and Stella, well she offered to talk to them in exchange for leaving you alone."

"No! She didn't have to do that!" I practically shout at Flack.

"You try telling her that" he comments.

"I'm not going to let her get killed because of me." I say in frustration.

"She made her choice Mac. She's smart and she can take care of herself." Don tries to reassure me.

***

Stella finds herself being led down a hallway to another room. Inside, she looks around and her heart sinks when she spies a red smear on the wall. She knows what it is and how it got there; Mac's blood and it's there because he refused to talk.

"Sit down Detective." The boss tells her. She does, her eyes wary of any movement from the other man in the room. Total, there are only three people in here, Stella included. If the situation presents itself, she could overpower the two men and get out of here and rescue the rest of the team, and Mac.

"Alright Detective, your partner left off after he began to discuss someone who identified themselves as an iconoclast. Please continue from where he left off. If you start to lie or hesitate, I'll bring Detective Taylor back in and you will watch as I persuade him to talk."

Her mind flashes back to seeing him; the boss holding his limp head, showing her the injuries that he sustained. She can't bear the thought of seeing him hurt like that again. She will cooperate with these thugs to keep him, and the rest of them safe.

She takes a deep breath and starts speaking. "Well, after Mac finished interrogating the suspect…"

_A very short chapter this time. Like I said, this is the last Chapter in __Icons__ for a while. Please stay tuned for __War__. It will be coming out very soon._

_J._


End file.
